


Drunken Fumbles

by sweaterbilbo



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaterbilbo/pseuds/sweaterbilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins wasn't a weak fellow, but he couldn't hold his liquor even if his life depended on it. One beer, and Bilbo is tipsy enough to forget his sorrows for the time being. Two beers, and Bilbo is ready to climb on a table and start singing. Three beers, and Bilbo is positively knackered and is just as likely to strip in public as trip into a toilet bowl. </p><p>Or, in which Bilbo is drunk and Thorin is hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Fumbles

Bilbo was ridiculously drunk.

Bilbo Baggins wasn't a weak fellow, but he couldn't hold his liquor even if his life depended on it. One beer, and Bilbo is tipsy enough to forget his sorrows for the time being. Two beers, and Bilbo is ready to climb on a table and start singing. Three beers, and Bilbo is positively knackered and is just as likely to strip in public as trip into a toilet bowl. 

And it was because of this that Bilbo almost never went out to drink; occasionally he would take a light alcoholic beverage out of his fridge at home and sip that as he watched a movie, but that was nearly all. Yet Bilbo’s day had been the definition of horrible, as his only worker at his small coffee shop quit in the old fashioned ‘I’m-angry-and-I’m-throwing-my-apron-down-in-rage-and-storming-out’ dramatics. 

Lucy had been an amazing employee, honestly. She’d been polite to the customers - even when they weren’t - and whenever she was in charge of making the small pastries that the shop made and sold, she made them right as Bilbo asked, and they were always good. So when she stormed into the back of the cafe, huffing and puffing, Bilbo was stunned. And then she called him an “ignorant asshole” and a “boyfriend stealer”, and Bilbo got very confused. It seemed that Bilbo accidentally flirted with Lucy’s boyfriend, when Bilbo had no idea who he actually was. He told her such, but she wouldn’t hear it, throwing her apron onto the ground and storming out, yelling “I quit!”. 

And so, tonight, Bilbo had gone to the quiet, musty bar a few blocks down from his flat, where he had consumed four shots of hard vodka, some girly drink at the bar, and a beer. He was, in fact, nursing his second beer of the night when a stranger took the bar stool next to him.

"Hello," the man murmured, and Bilbo turned to face him. The man was clothed in all black, comprised of a rather medieval tunic of sorts, and a ragged hood covered most of his face. He looks like a mercenary, Bilbo thought to himself giddily. Bilbo had always loved the tales of adventure and mischief, and this man looked like he came straight from one. Bilbo roamed his eyes over the man appreciatively, taking in the tight, but in need of a wash, black shirt and the well fitted gray pants that made the bloke's thighs look marvelous. However, it was the eyes that struck Bilbo the most. When Bilbo first saw them in his drunken splendor, Bilbo almost immediately debated singing a song about them, for they were as blue as a summer afternoon, and as deep as an ocean made of moonlight. Okay, Bilbo, that's enough. You're not a poet! Bilbo scolded himself internally, and realized he had yet to return blue-eye's greeting.

"Uh, hello!" Bilbo replied cheerily, and tilted his head as the man pulled back his hood.  
Bilbo took one glance at the completely-fuckable delicious god sitting on the booth next to him, and then reached for the beer sitting on the coaster in front of him. Downing it in one go, Bilbo swallowed roughly and took a breath. 

"I'm Baggins. No, wait, I'm Bilbo. Or am I? Maybe I'm Ed. No, that doesn't sound right..." Bilbo was aware that he was making a fool out of himself, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, like ants erupting from an anthill. The man to whom Bilbo was trying (and failing) to speak with simply raised a finely plucked eyebrow in regard to Bilbo's rambling.

Bilbo stopped, and took a breath. "Okay, yes, I'm Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins. At your service!" Bilbo offered a hand in greeting, and the other man grasped it firmly and shook it. His hand was large - much larger than Bilbo's - and it was rough and warm where it met Bilbo's much smaller, daintier hand.

"Thorin Oakenshield," The man...well, Thorin replied. Bilbo could not help but feel as if there was something strange about the man; something mysterious. Oh. My. God. Bilbo, what are you? A teenage lass? No! You're a Baggins, so stop bloody mooning over this near stranger! Just because Thorin is...shockingly attractive, with his deep voice and blue eyes, does not mean you can stare at him as if you were Bella Swan, and he Edward Cullen!  
Bilbo was so involved in internally scolding himself that he did not realize that Thorin had both ordered an ale and asked Bilbo a question, so Bilbo nearly jumped off the bar stool when Thorin touched his shoulder in a silent 'hey are you even listening to me?' gesture.

"Hngh, what?" Bilbo spluttered, blinking a few times so as to calm his racing heart and sitting back on his stool. Bilbo absolutely did not give any thought to the lingering warmth from where Thorin's hand had briefly rested on his shoulder blade, and he most certainly did not yearn for more, not at all.

"Shockingly attractive, hmm?" Thorin smirked, stroking his beard in mocking. Bilbo's heart, which had just begun to cool, sped right back up as all the heat rushed to his face, and Bilbo knew that he was about as red as a tomato. Did I really just say that out loud? Bilbo cried internally, his face hot with embarrassment.

"I-, uh-,"

"I was not aware that my 'deep voice' was such a turn on, Master Baggins," Thorin continued, openly laughing as Bilbo all but shrunk down into half the size of what he had been. "To think that such a fine fellow as you is so stunned by a beggar's looks!" 

Bilbo closed his mouth. He opened it, only to close it a second time. He blinked. Then he blinked again. A beggar? He’s homeless? Bilbo thought to himself, stunned to silence.

"Oh, don't look at me with pity," Thorin's demeanor changed dramatically from a happy aura of a man enjoying his ale to that of a troll, all in a moment. His shoulders grew rigid, his back going straight with tension, and a cold anger flamed in his eyes, burning with indignation and a refusal to be looked down upon.

"Wh-what? Oh, no, no! That-," Bilbo groaned, looking up at the ceiling of the musty bar. "That wasn't what I meant!" Bilbo grabbed Thorin's sleeve as he tried to leave, and pulled on it until Thorin sat down, who was huffing angrily.

"Look, Mr. Oakenshield, I don't care if you don't have a house to return to. Well, okay, that's not true - I'd rather you did have a home than not, but it's not as if you are lesser for it! God, I'm drunk. Is the world spinning for you too?" Bilbo stopped as he hiccuped, his eyes tearing up as the alcohol burned his throat. "My point is - I don't think you below me because you do not have as much as I do."

"Thorin."

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"My name is Thorin. You may call me that, if you so please." Thorin clarified, and Bilbo gave him a smile.

"Very well, Thorin."

They both stared at each other, until Bilbo felt his stomach react violently to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed that night. Bilbo's eyes widened, and he tossed out a "be right back!" to Thorin as he slid off the stool and ran to the bathrooms at the back of the pub. There, Bilbo hurled into the toilet until his stomach felt empty and sore. Afterwards, Bilbo wiped his mouth and cleaned his teeth using a paper towel (which did not work very well, but hey, it was still better than walking out with vomit coating his lips and teeth!), and walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, only to bump straight into Thorin's chest.

"Oh, Thorin!" Bilbo exclaimed, throwing his arms out to regain his balance and keep from toppling over onto the floor. 

"Apologies, Master Baggins. I was looking to say farewell to you this night." Thorin explained, reaching out to grasp Bilbo's upper arms in support. 

"Oh? And where do you-," Bilbo hiccuped, "think you're going to sleep, hmm?" 

"It is none of your concern-" Thorin began, his eyebrows furrowing in indignation.

"Confound your pride, Thorin, just for tonight! I would be no friend if I were to let you stay out in the cold, where it is, oh look, pouring." Bilbo scolded, poking a finger right at Thorin, who looked rather taken aback.

"It is not pouring, it is- oh." Thorin began but then broke off as he looked towards a window and promptly saw lightning flash and light up the furious rain that was, well, pouring down.

"Exactly. Now please, for the love of all that is holy, allow me to open my doors to you, for at least this night." Bilbo all but begged.

Thorin didn't look convinced. "But you're drunk-"

"And let us thank fate for that, or else there'd be no way I could suffer your stupid foolhardy pride!" Bilbo snapped, and in his bravery, grabbed Thorin's hand and started to pull him across the room. Amazingly enough, Thorin followed without a struggle, and they pushed through the doors and out into the storm. Bilbo, although extremely short, still hailed a taxi on the first try, and shoved Thorin into the backseat before climbing in himself.

"Where to?" The driver asked monotonously, as Bilbo shut the car door.

"The Bag End Coffee Shop, please! 50 Shire Avenue, if you need an address." Bilbo stated, and sat back as the taxi driver nodded and pulled back into the road.

"Bag End? Why are we going there? Surely they're closed!" Thorin asked, turning to look at a soaked Bilbo.

"Because I own it, you git." Bilbo replied shortly. Thorin raised his eyebrows at the insult, and Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Oh, get over it. You were truly being insufferable back there, with all that 'Master Baggins'! It's Bilbo, if you'd please."

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but presumably thought better of it, for he closed it again, and blinked.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, and waited.

Thorin swallowed. And stuck out a hand in the middle of the cramped back seat of the taxi car. "Hello, Bilbo Baggins. How about we start again?"

Bilbo laughed at the sight of the six-foot-something beast of a man crouched over and sticking a thick arm out in a peace offering, and shook it.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When the driver pulled up outside the locally-famous Bag End Coffee Shop, Bilbo leaned forwards and placed a wad of cash in the taxi driver’s outstretched hand, and then scrambled out of the car. Thorin followed suit, although his exit was much less graceful, as such a large man does not easily fit into a tiny economic taxi car, unlike Bilbo, who was very short.

“And, here we are! What do you think?” Bilbo threw his arms up in the standard ‘Ta-da!’ fashion, and turned to Thorin with a proud grin.

“Such a small place suits such a small man,” Thorin replied. “And I mean no offense.” He added quickly, as he caught sight of Bilbo’s raised eyebrow.

“You better not! My shop is the best one in New York! Full of charm, it is!” Bilbo scolded gently, who pulled a set of keys out from one of his pockets and proceded to unlock the front door of Bag End with them.

Bilbo turned on the lights, and moved aside so Thorin could enter. It was true that Bag End was a small shop, but it was, as Bilbo said, full of charm. Immediately upon entering, the customer would be greeted with the homey scent of coffee and pastries, and the soft red booths on the left flowed with the creamy decour of the shop. The menu was written on a blackboard, with swirly letters written with various colors. The items on the menu were composed of different types of coffees, pastries, and the various breakfast meals that day, such as eggs benedict, or an omelet and bacon. There was a small hall that led to a set of bathrooms, but there was also a closed door in that hall, that was neither a closet or a bathroom.

“Come with me, Thorin, and we’ll find you a place to sleep.” Bilbo held his hand for Thorin, who took it with only a moment’s hesitation. Bilbo led him down the hall, and using his set of keys again, unlocked the dark brown door. It turns out that it led to a staircase, and that staircase led to a flat above the coffee shop, which happened to be Bilbo’s personal flat.

“I…” Thorin uttered, staring at the sight before him. Bilbo giggled quietly, but soon sobered up at the genuine awe in Thorin’s eyes. He’s never seen a true home, or he hasn’t for a long time, Bilbo thought. That’s depressing. 

Bilbo’s flat was small. It was messy. It was unorganized. But it was home. With two worn in armchairs sitting by a fireplace, and a scattering of books and papers sitting in bookshelves and spilling out of drawers, the living room was warm and cozy. Bilbo had paintings hanging on the walls, but they were those bought by a middle-class man, not one bought by a rich executive producer of some big time company. The flat’s kitchen had a comfortable amount of space, with enough counterspace for a true feast, and as a coffee shop owner, Bilbo’s fridge was always fully stocked. Bilbo’s two bedrooms - one master, one guest - were cluttered with just enough things to make it feel like home. And at the end, that’s all it really was.

Home.

Of course, Thorin learned all this when Bilbo showed him around on a tour of the flat, and as it was nearly midnight, Bilbo dropped him off in the guest bedroom.

“Well, that’s really quite all it is. The sheets are fresh, and if you need an extra pillow just let me know, and the bathroom is down the hall on the right…” Bilbo said, standing in the doorway of Thorin’s temporary room.

And Bilbo watched as Thorin’s cheeks reddened, and he ducked his head to hide his smile at the sight. “I hate to ask anymore than I already have of you, but do you have any...clothing...I could borrow?” Thorin asked.  
“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed, smacking a hand on his face in realization. “I mean, I can go look, but I’m not sure anything will fit you...But let me check. I’ll be back in a sec!”

Bilbo groaned. Thorin is just about twice my size, how do I hope to find anything his size? He thought, but he scuttled across the hall to dig through his drawers filled with various jumpers and jeans and suits and aprons. The first drawer held nothing suitable, nor the second, or the third. However, the fourth drawer held a pair of oversized grey sweatpants that could possibly fit Thorin. Possibly. In that same drawer, god bless it, Bilbo also found a light pink sweater. It was huge however, so it would most certainly fit Thorin. And it would be hilarious to see Thorin wearing a pink, fluffy jumper.

And with that, Bilbo trotted back to the guest bedroom, and proceeded to dump the clothing in Thorin’s arms.

“It’s pink.” Thorin stated, frowning down at the fluffy clothing piece in his hands.

“Oh, get over it, you homeless oaf,” Bilbo retorted, and then immediately covered his mouth with his hands, looking shocked. “I didn’t--”

But Thorin was too busy laughing to pay attention to Bilbo’s apology. “I cannot believe you, Master Baggins. To insult a guest!”

Bilbo squeaked in horror. “I’m so sorry, oh, Thorin! I didn’t mean to-”

Thorin waved a hand, brushing away Bilbo’s apology. “Nay, it is...lifting to have someone to banter with. It has been far too long. No harm has been dealt, Bilbo.”

Bilbo swallowed, shuffling his feet nervously. “Well, if you say so….How about you change into your nice pink sweater and then call me over and I’ll go put your old clothing in the wash, yes?”

Thorin smiled. “That is fine with me.”

Bilbo walked back to his own room, where an idea struck him. It was obvious that Thorin was, at first, attempting to chat him up back at the bar, so there must be some level of attraction. Bilbo knew that he was not considered ‘hot’ or ‘model worthy’, but Bilbo would be damned if he wasn’t at least a little bit attractive to most. 

So Bilbo changed out of his worn out jeans and his old, navy blue jumper, and instead put on a pair of brown sweat pants and a black tanktop. It certainly wasn’t a slutty outfit, nor a particularly attractive one, but it might get a reaction out of Thorin. Maybe. But Bilbo didn’t even know if he wanted a reaction, to be honest. Bilbo wasn’t into one-night stands, and this was definitely leading to one.

Whatever. Bilbo was drunk. Therefore, fuck off, common sense, because you aren’t wanted here. Bilbo giggled and returned to Thorin’s door, knocking on it to retrieve his clothes. God knows the last time they were washed, and Bilbo most certainly didn’t want them stinking up the place.  
Thorin opened the door.

And Bilbo stared.

Thorin stared too.

But Bilbo was awestruck. Well, that probably wasn’t the word for it, but Bilbo’s drunken mind wasn’t exactly on the top of its game. His jaw dropped wide open, his eyes were about to pop out of his skull, and he could only stare.

Thorin was wearing the clothes Bilbo had given him. Yes, the pants were a little tight, but it was more of the ‘fuck, I’ve gotten more beefed up since I last wore these’, rather than the ‘fuck, I’m fat’ type. The sweater was...well, pink, but however much it would embarrass Thorin to find out, it looked very...attractive on him. Thorin’s long hair was flowing freely down his back, and the white speckles in his beard simply added to the attractive ruggedness of Thorin.

And Bilbo felt something then. It was a strange feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. Yet Bilbo could not decipher what the feeling was, nor what caused it.

“Thank you for the clothing, Bilbo,” Thorin said, before looking down at the dirty pile of clothing in his hands, “and thank you for letting me stay here tonight.”

“You’re-,” Bilbo swallowed and tried again. “You’re very welcome, Thorin, but it was my pleasure. Really.” 

And suddenly, Bilbo knew what he was feeling. Well, not the exact word, but he definitely knew what caused it. Thorin. In Bilbo’s clothing. It shot a surge of want, of yearning, of lust, up Bilbo’s veins, and all Bilbo wanted to do was kiss the genuine smile off Thorin’s face. But, it would be rude to attack a guest. Very rude indeed. Especially if one were to attack said guest with one’s dick. Not proper at all.

But then again, Bilbo was not very proper when spectacularly drunk.

And that was that. Bilbo took a deep breath, and then positively lunged at Thorin, who immediately fell backwards as he instinctively wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist. Luckily, they fell on Thorin’s bed, and Bilbo wasted no time in crawling up Thorin’s body to kiss him firmly on the lips, prying his mouth open with a swipe of a tongue on Thorin’s bottom lip. 

The dirty clothing was left on the bedroom floor, all jumbled in a heap, and soon both Bilbo and Thorin’s clothing flew across the room to land in various places, like on a lamp.

Neither of them got very much sleep that night.


End file.
